


Atonement

by ScribbleWillow (Soul_in_the_Starlight)



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Masturbation, Other, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-28
Updated: 2012-07-28
Packaged: 2017-11-10 22:32:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soul_in_the_Starlight/pseuds/ScribbleWillow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's only one way to atone for those sins...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Atonement

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this as a fill on the Eleventh Doctor kink-meme at Livejournal, for this prompt:
> 
> In "Amy's Choice" the Doctor asks what they do in Upper Leadworth to stave off the boredom (and the self-harm). Now, with Rory gone, the Doctor is committing self-harm and using the blood as really bad lube to masturbate with.

It's only once he's passed her bedroom door for what must be the fifth time, and is really, truly, _absolutely_ sure that Amy is fast asleep, that he steals away into the depths of the ship to ease his pain.  
  
He smiles to himself ruefully as he turns the phrase over in his mind.   
  
_Ease his pain._   
  
That was so rich, so ironic, so deliciously perverse, that he's already half hard before he reaches the room.  
  
It's nothing special, just a generic bedroom, crew quarters. Comfortable, but sparsely furnished, blandly anonymous and functional, white and grey; and that was all he needed. Somewhere to escape to, somewhere that didn't remind him of anything or anyone; not when his head was teaming with guilt and remorse, bursting with the constant battle between anger, regret and self-loathing for those stupid words of optimism.  
  
 _Nobody dies today.  
_  
He sits on the bed, and quickly undresses. Amy hasn't noticed that he never rolls up his sleeves any more when they're relaxing between excursions. But he can't let her see the cuts. He heals quickly, quicker than a human, but he's doing this so often that his forearms are a mess, and some of the older cuts are starting to leave scars.  
  
Someone should remember him. Written in the flesh of the one he saved, if not the heart of the one he loved.  
  
His cock swells further as he reaches into his jacket for the sonic. He doesn't feel pleasure, but at least he feels _something_ during this nightly ritual.   
  
He holds his right arm down, aiming the screwdriver at the pale flesh of his forearm, and slowly parts the skin; layer by agonising layer, until the surface of the vein is breached, and the warm red liquid runs down, in thick, velvety rivulets towards his palm.  
  
At the point where it's ready to drip through the gaps in his fingers, he grasps his erection firmly, almost cruelly, his face expressionless, eyes clouded with disgust. The wetness in his palm eases the friction of skin on skin, the motion of his hand expelling more blood from the wound, and he stands from the bed to allow gravity to direct it to his hand, his cock now streaked with the crimson residue of his despair.  
  
He works himself faster, his mind allowed the brief luxury of fantasy to speed the process, a myriad dark and terrible things dragged to the surfaced and briefly sexualised, as his eyes close against the relative beauty of this light, clean chamber, facing the dark filth of those unforgiveable deeds in the confines of his thoughts.  
  
He can feel the warmth of the blood on his palm, but it's drying on his cock, matted into his hair, and now hindering rather than easing the fingers that tug and pull at the swollen length. He needs to finish, needs to feel that sharp tug at the base of his belly as he empties his balls and his mind. But he's losing the moment, feels the hardness falter, until a face springs to mind, unbidden, unwanted, a face he'd _never_ want to see him like this.   
  
_Amy._  
  
He drops to the bed again in shock, as his mind fastens to her beauty and teases forth the image of her kneeling before him; naked, as pale as the room save for the fire that burns around her shoulders, cascading down her back and curling around her breasts.   
  
His hands are both now hard at work as he lies back on the bed, breath ragged and painful as he fights the vision. Desire and repulsion war behind his eyes, as his treacherous mind makes Amy lick the blood from his fingers, and suck the shame from his cock, the imagined sensation of her sweet pink lips enveloping him deeply, at last bringing freedom from the numbness.   
  
He rasps out a sob, hot tears streaking his cheeks as the sticky white fluid runs down his thigh towards the bed, and his blood-streaked palms reach out for the girl who isn't there; his hands falling back in disappointment, to let bitten nails desperately scrape at old wounds.


End file.
